


Gears

by Anonymous



Series: miscellaneous writing [1]
Category: Cogchamp SMP - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depersonalization, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 08:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: fundy doesnt have a good time
Series: miscellaneous writing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213721
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	Gears

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for (major) hallucination-esque descriptions (not intended, but they read like hallucinations), depersonalization (? I think that's the word for it anyway), self-destructive impulses, mild blood

There are gears beneath his skin. 

Not really. Not really. They’re not there, not really. Fundy knows this. He does, he does. He is human, and fox, and he is flesh and blood, and the gears are all outside amid the dark wood and makeshift machines. 

Fundy looks down at his arms. They're just skin. They’re just skin, and beneath that blood and muscle, and beneath that, bone. There are no gears beneath his skin. He can feel his heartbeat. 

Gears whirr in his ears, and his breath catches in his throat. There are gears beneath his skin and oil runs through his veins and if a spider bit him, right now, wires would spark in protest. 

He's flesh and blood. He knows he is, he knows he is, he knows he is. His fingers dig into his arm, and there are no gears beneath his skin, only muscle and blood and bone. His nails dig into the skin. Not hard enough to make him bleed, but enough to hurt. 

He takes a shuddering breath. There are no gears beneath his skin. 

When he looks across the room, Ranboo is sleeping peacefully. Moonlight makes the scars on his face silver. 

There are gears beneath his skin, and Fundy can barely keep himself from clawing at his arms to prove it, to prove it, to get them out. His whole body shudders and there are gears beneath his skin. 

He could go outside. He could go outside and fight monsters until the sun rises, until he's covered in dust and cobwebs and blood, and the light of the day makes everything less overwhelming, and he can breathe again. 

There are gears beneath his skin and if you cut him he would bleed oil, and he doesn’t need to breathe. 

No, he does, he does, it's just that every breath takes conscious effort. That's all, that's all. There's nothing beneath his skin except muscle and blood and bone. There are gears beneath his skin. 

Fundy stands up and walks out into the night. His sword hangs loosely by his side, and he didn't bother to put on armor, but that's okay, that's okay, because if you cut him he wouldn't bleed. 

No, he would, he would. He shakes his head back and forth and tries to remember that. 

A skeleton shoots an arrow at him, and he doesn’t remember to dodge until after it’s sailed past his head, but that's okay, because it wouldn't hurt him if it hit him instead. 

No, it would. A growl bubbles up from his throat and his grip tightens on his sword. He swings at the skeleton wildly, and shatters its bow, and then pays it no mind because it can't hurt him anymore. 

He almost wants it to hurt him, just to prove whether there are gears or not. But he's already taken care of it, and he turns to see a spider lunging for him. He doesn’t block the attack in time, and it hurts when its fangs sink into his skin. 

Fundy shoves it away, his sword dropped to the ground. His reflexes are slow, and he stumbles back toward where Ranboo is sleeping. Dully, he realizes he's crying out in pain, but he doesn't know how to stop. 

Blood seeps down his arm and drips from his fingertips, and a wave of nausea sweeps through him. 

“Fundy?” 

Ranboo’s awake now, and he's hurrying over to him, but Fundy can’t make himself respond. There are gears beneath his skin and he's bleeding. But he would bleed oil if he was hurt, and he's not, so maybe he's not really hurt— 

“Fundy, you’re bleeding! Come on, let's go inside.” 

Fundy follows numbly, his hand slick with blood, breathing hard.


End file.
